


Take This Waltz

by Scarlet



Category: The Fall (TV)
Genre: F/F, Femslash, Season/Series 03, fuck croydon, tying up loose ends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-03
Updated: 2016-07-03
Packaged: 2018-07-19 22:11:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7379386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scarlet/pseuds/Scarlet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is so little that is soft in Stella's life...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take This Waltz

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place a couple of days after series two ended.

“I thought we were going out for drinks,” Stella says, stretching her arm languidly along the back of the sofa, dragging her nails over the brown velvety fabric covering it.

Reed looks up from her computer monitor, smiles that infuriatingly kind and opaque smile of hers. Stella wants to kiss it off, lick it off, bite it off, and would if the lovely professor hadn’t been brought up in bloody Croydon.

“We are. I’m almost done,” Reed says, lowering her gaze and resuming typing.

“That’s what you said twenty minutes ago.”

Reed clacks her tongue, “Patience is not really your thing, is it?” she asks, squinting at her screen.

Stella smirks. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re stalling.”

Reed stops typing, shoots her a smirk of her own. “You do know better.”

They’ve had drinks before, it shouldn’t be a big deal. But that was _before,_ and the straightness in Reed’s spine, the particular set of her shoulders, tells Stella, whose job it is to read in people’s bodies what their words hide, that her colleague isn’t as relaxed about this as she pretends to be.

“If the idea of having another drink with me makes you uncomfortable, why ask me in the first place?” she asks bluntly.

Reed lifts her head, holds Stella’s gaze. “You do not make me uncomfortable, Stella,” and there is a whole other conversation embedded inside those deceptively simple words.

Stella crosses her arms over her chest. There’s been a bone-deep chill inside her since the shooting in the woods she can’t seem to shake off. “I’m fine, you know? I don’t need you to look after me.”

Reed clicks her mouse, and the loud whir of the printer starts behind her. “Is that what you think I’m doing?”

Stella shrugs. “Spector is in an ICU, all that blood you saw on me two days ago wasn’t mine.”

Reed swivels in her chair, stretches to reach for the printout. “I know.”

“I’ve seen worse.”

Reed staples the paper to a few others already on her desk. “I’m sure you have.”

“Then why am I here?”

“Because I asked if you wanted a drink and you said yes,” Reed replies casually. She slides the stack of papers inside a brown folder, scribbles something on the cover. “And to be honest, after the past couple of days, I could use one too.” Stella knows Reed has been spending most of her time by Rose’s bedside, monitoring her recovery.

Rose, the woman they both sent right into Spector’s claws. There is no shortage of guilt where the two of them are concerned, but Stella is doubtful this is something they will discuss tonight. They’re both too raw, too guarded, and are still learning the steps of the strange waltz pulling them towards each other.

Stella stands up, walks slowly around the desk. She lays a hand on the back of Reed’s office chair and gives it a small push to make the chair and its occupant turn towards her. She sets both hands on the thin arm-rests, bringing her face level with Reed’s. “So, that’s why I’m here? Because you’re… thirsty?” she teases, her voice gone low, serpentine.

Reed bites her lip. “Stella…”

Their eyes burn. Sky and earth.

 _Tell me to go and I will_ , Stella silently offers.

Reed doesn’t say anything else, but she does lower her gaze to stare at her folded hands on her lap.

Stella sighs, straightens up and starts to move away.

Reed’s hand shoots out to catch her wrist.

Stella stops moving, watches as the pathologist slowly stands up, watches as she lifts one hesitant hand to cup her cheek.

The kiss, when it comes, is chaste, closed-mouth but so soft. Stella shouldn’t be surprised. Since she’s known her, Reed has always been soft-spoken and gentle, her manners imbued with the stillness and peace of the dead she looks after. Stella had sampled a taste of that softness in Berts’ bar, but it had been too brief, too fleeting. There is so little that is soft in Stella’s life, her days made up of so many bruises, scarred tissues; the collected hurts from the world of men. All the silk blouses in the kingdom aren’t enough to make her forget the harsh, cutting realities and shattered fates that follow in her wake. 

Reed pulls back, runs her hands over Stella’s shoulders, down her arms. “You’re shaking,” she whispers, her eyes soothing, warm, still a little shy. The eyes of a healer, a mother, and a sinner all at once. Stella only has use for one of those.

Reed squeals in surprise when Stella grabs her waist and hoists her onto the desk without ceremony. The stapler falls to the floor with a clatter behind them. Stella’s fingers tangle in Reed’s hair as she brings their lips together again. Her own kiss is nothing but chaste.

Reeds whimpers as she opens her mouth, whimpers again when their tongues brush against each other, her inner thighs warm brackets pressing against Stella’s hips. White heat blossoms low in Stella’s belly and her hands slide down to cup Reed’s breasts through her green scrubs. They’re round and full and she wants her lips there too, wants to swim in Reed’s softness and never come up for air.

Reed gasps and breaks the kiss. “Hm… Stella, stop, stop.”

Stella regretfully lets her hands fall, lifts an eyebrow.

“Not here,” Reed breathes out.

“Why not?” Stella asks, slipping one hand under Reeds’ scrubs to touch her stomach, running a teasing thumb along the waistband of her hospital trousers.

Reed turns her head to point her chin towards the door. “I’d rather not find myself on the front page of the Belfast Chronicles,” she explains.

“It’s late,” Stella murmurs, tugging at the drawstring. Her fingers sneak under the waistband of Reed’s scrub trousers as she trails her lips along the column of her throat, tasting the salt of her skin, the alkaline tang of her soap.

Reed’s hand close over hers before Stella ventures any lower. “Not late enough.” She squeezes her fingers, “not here,” she repeats, more firmly this time.

Stella shrugs then pulls her hands away and takes a step back.

Reed slides off the desk. “Wait for me, I’ll go change,” she says, heading for the door.

“You’re not going to bolt again, are you?” Stella asks as Reed opens the door.

Reed looks over her shoulder and smiles. “Stella, had I let your hand go where you wanted, you would _know_ I’m not about to bolt for all the tea in China.”

Stella pinches the bridge of her nose and chuckles as Reed disappears down the corridor.

She comes back ten minutes later, in her usual bike-riding attire. “So… I guess I’m supposed to ask: your place or mine?” she says, in the self-conscious tones of someone who is trying very hard not to question the wisdom of her own actions.

“Aren’t your daughters home?” Stella asks, putting her coat on. There’s never been any mention of a husband, so Stella has drawn her own conclusions. Reed is either divorced or a widow.  

“It's way past their bedtime. If the baby-sitter followed my instructions, they should be fast asleep,” Reed replies.

Stella comes closer, runs an index finger on the curve of the black helmet tucked under Reed’s arm. “So, you’re the quiet type,” Stella states, her lips curving up, still looking down at the helmet.

“I… I don’t know. Yes… I mean, I’ve never… not with a woman…” Reed stammers.

Stella catches her eyes, smiles as she lifts a hand to tuck a strand of black hair behind Reed’s ear. “Let’s go to my hotel. Old building. Thick walls. Just in case,” she says quietly, her thumb tracing  the curve of Reed's jaw. 

Reeds swallows, nods. “Just in case.” 

Stella strokes her blushing cheek. “Or you can just go home. Get some sleep, think about it. That’s okay too.”

Reed catches Stella’s hand, shakes her head. “No. Not this time.” She kisses her palm. "I know what I'm doing."

**Author's Note:**

> THANKS: to [neednot ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/neednot/) for the fast beta. :-)
> 
> The title is of course a reference to Leonard Cohen's song. Don't ask me why it reminds me of Stella and Reed. It just does.


End file.
